


Comforts of an Old Life

by DraniKitty



Series: Short stories from the Garbage Court [18]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Prayer candles, Sense of Loss, one of those little religious stores
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 23:38:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7128617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DraniKitty/pseuds/DraniKitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ross is feeling the ache of missing his old home. Smith seeks to ease that ache.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comforts of an Old Life

The lost look was hard to miss. Smith watched Ross from the sofa, the way he stared out the window of their small flat at the people down below. The trees were filled with flowers, birds darting about as they sang their spring songs, and the fire that had destroyed the church seemed forgotten by the city at large already.   
  
As he admired the lines of Ross’ back, the way the light reflected on his horns and tail, he took in, too, the morose expression. Smith knew little of the world Ross had come from, but he wanted to ease the homesickness he clearly felt. What did people from a religious place take comfort IN?   
  
When he went out again, he stopped by a little kitschy religious store, looking around. It made his skin crawl being in the place, but it was for Ross. Ross made it worth it.   
  
“Hello, how may I help- Help you… Um…” The shop clerk stopped as they stared at Smith, suddenly very nervous.   
  
Smith frowned, motioning around. “Looking for something for a friend. I’d like to get in and out and on my way, thanks.”   
  
“Not a problem. Um… What do they… What are they... “ The clerk was stumbling over their words, shifting from foot to foot.   
  
He let out an exasperated sigh, rolling his eyes. It seemed to make the clerk even more nervous. “He’s a gargoyle, okay? From a church. I think he’s homesick, and I’m looking for something he preferably CAN’T throw at us while telling us to repent for our sins.” He was pretty sure his ass still had a bruise or scar from that bible Ross had thrown just after New Years.   
  
“A gargoyle from a… Ah!” Pleased to have a way to get that which made them nervous and jittery OUT of their shop, the clerk hurried over to a set of shelves on the wall. Many candles stood on it, all in tall, beautifully painted glass jars with a different inscription of words on the other side. The clerk motioned to them all, offering Smith as good a smile as they could. “I’m hazarding a guess as to what church your friend came from, but I’m guessing he might appreciate prayer candles.”   
  
Smith stared up at them all, frowning. They were all so… Fancy. And strange. He reached up, hesitating as if they might burn like iron, before turning one around to read it. The words meant nothing to him, but maybe they’d mean something to Ross. “I guess these’ll do. He won’t throw them at us, will he?”   
  
“Shouldn’t. I’ll, um.. I’ll be at the till, when you’re ready.” And then the clerk was gone, leaving Smith alone at the wall of candles.   
  
Letting out a small sound, Smith looked back at the candles.   
  


* * *

  
  
When Trott got home, he was surprised to find no lights on. What managed to surprise him more was the number of candles everywhere, glowing cheerily and adding a strange comfort to the flat.   
  
Until he got a closer look and realized they were all religious.   
  
“What the hell happened in here? Did that Mormon get in?! Ross!”   
  
“I didn’t let the Mormon in!” Picking up one of the candles, Ross gently cradled it, smiling. “Smith got me candles!”   
  
“Smith got you… WHY?” He looked around, then went into the bedroom. “Smith!”   
  
“Yeah, Trott?” One of the candles was on the bedside table, casting enough light for Smith to read by.   
  
“Our HOME is full of RELIGIOUS CANDLES! Why?!”   
  
Placing a marker in the book, Smith set it aside and scooted back, patting the bed. “Sit with me, Trott.” When Trott sank down onto the mattress, Smith pulled him close. “I got him the candles, because he looked like he was missing his old home.” He motioned to a wall, where a fishing net hung. “Like you have a reminder of the sea you came from.”   
  
Trott leaned into Smith’s arms, staring at the net. The light of the candle danced on it, catching some of the sea glass woven into it. Finally, he let out a sigh, looking back at the candle. “If it eases his sense of homesickness, then alright. Thanks for at least getting them in jars.”   
  
“Yeah, I thought that was a nice bonus.”   
  
Both looked up as they heard Ross in the living room, singing as he cleaned up a bit. It was some hymn he’d heard in his time in the church rafters, so long ago when it was populated and used. The lights of the candles dotting the room reflected on his horns and tail, casting a blue glow to him. When he passed the door, both Trott and Smith were left breathless by the beauty of it all.   
  
“When they burn away, get more candles, Smith.”   
  
“Yeah, deal, if we can see him like that more often."

**Author's Note:**

> It should be noted that this is in the early days of the court, before even Sips. I was inspired, in part, by this post over on Urban Magic Aesthetic:
> 
> http://urbanmagicaesthetic.tumblr.com/post/132528348038


End file.
